It's oh, so, quiet. Shh. Shhh.

I try to imagine a life in which I do not nervously await the sound of something jarring, of someone needing - something. In my sleep, in the shower, in the car, walking from the living room to the kitchen, washing my hands, drifting through mundanity, I listen. I hear everything. If those children so much as breathe differently, I know.

This is not so much conducive to a functioning life of employment. Coworkers do not necessarily appreciate a twitchy, hyper-attentive, more than slightly quirky cohort. They in fact frown upon that sort of thing. Tends to detract from accomplishing actual work.

So I went back this week, and it's same, same. The work is the same, and the people are the same, even if our physical location is different (we needed a bigger office). I am making a real effort to pump this time around, and so I've been assigned my Closet of Dubious Usefulness in which to do so. It's actually kind of fun. For twenty minutes every day, I get to lock myself in a nicely carpeted storage room, post a sign that says "NO CLOSET TIME FOR YOU" (so not joking), and hunker down with some celebrity gossip on my phone.

I have actually been pretty successful at tuning out the rest of the world and getting some things done, but I really do hear phantom sounds of infant distress coming from the HP printer who lives around the corner from my cubicle. I was mildly tempted to walk over and pat his back and ask if he needed a drink of water. I mean, I thought about it anyway.

It's so hard to switch parts of your brain on and off at your convenience. I think that's a well-known fact, but it bears repeating. Kyle and I are executing this life of carefully timed comings and goings revolving around child care and work schedules. There are literally minutes between when I arrive home from work and when Kyle must appear for work. When we are home, we are caring for children, and when we aren't, we are working. That's just how it is right now.

I keep telling Kyle that everything will be magical in five years. In five years, both children will be completely in charge of their own bathroom adventures. They will sleep with some measure of predictability. They will not wear diapers or need to be fed manually. Then, THEN, when I'm good and 35, I'll be able to relax when it's quiet, not wonder what, exactly, is about to go wrong.